Even his diehard opponents will admit that Barack Obama, for months the presumptive and, as of last night, the actual Democratic nominee, rarely puts a foot wrong along the campaign trail. While some have criticized his rhetorical style as bloodless and vague, it is clearly a choice, the result of a calculated decision by a remarkably intelligent politician with masterful instincts.
So it was surprising, to say the least, to see Obama make not one but a dozen or more missteps during what was, by media acclamation, the most important speech of his life.
First of all, while it must have seemed like brilliant idea to have the hugely popular Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps carry Senator Obama onto the stage, even a cursory rehearsal should have revealed that the best way for Phelps to do so was piggy-back not in an over-the-shoulder fireman’s carry. As it was, the first thing the audience saw of their candidate was his rear end. Even once Phelps began to walk toward the podium and Senator Obama began waving to the crowd, the entire procedure seemed ungainly and somehow undignified. That Obama slipped and almost fell when Phelps set him down didn’t help, despite the two men’s labored effort to laugh it off.
The Illinois Senator always looks sleek, fit, and clean-cut, as he did in Denver on Thursday night. But, in an apparent response to the flag-pin controversy from earlier this summer, his suit jacket was lined with a Stars-and-Stripes patterned satin, which he made a point of flashing on several occasions in a silly, showboat display.
The leather sandals were a poor choice of a different sort, not flashy, but seemingly a reference to Mr. Obama’s deep support among academics and intellectuals, a group he would be well-advised to distance himself from before the general election in November. It was an outfit befitting the mid-80s Elton John from the ankles up and a Bard professor on sabbatical in Morocco from the ankles down. Even a presidential contender who is campaigning on a platform of change, (one might say especially one who is campaigning on a platform of change) must know how to avoid distracting voters from his message with his wardrobe.
Perhaps Mr. Obama should get some fashion advice from his photogenic wife, Michelle, whose speech on Monday night was greeted with almost universal acclaim, and who looked elegant and cool — “First Lady-like” for lack of a better term — last night. However, surely the man behind her in the t-shirt with the faded image of the Zig-Zag Rolling Paper man could have been seated elsewhere rather than conspicuously over Mrs. Obama’s shoulder. Or, if he could not have been moved, at least he could have been asked not to spend so much time fiddling with his BlackBerry and then dozing. The Obamas’ two daughters looked poised and adorable, as always.
The corporate tie-ins are probably the aspect of last night’s speech likely to draw the most fire from late night comedians looking for a cheap shot. The lengthy PowerPoint presentation from Dennis Dinsmore, Invesco’s Vice President for Communications, that preceded Obama’s speech was little more than a sales pitch couched in manipulatively patriotic language. However, the stadium does belong to Invesco and, one supposes, a few trade-offs were necessary in order to secure the venue for the night. Mr. Obama’s ostentatiously placed Coca-Cola cup from which he sipped repeatedly (despite never appearing to break a sweat) was intrusive and less justifiable. Viewers have become used to seeing this sort of product placement on “American Idol” or during NASCAR races but this is the first time a nominee from a major party has plumbed the depths of corporate underwriting. (John Anderson, a third party candidate, did agree to allow his 1980 campaign to be sponsored by Chrysler – a publicity stunt that ultimately backfired for both Anderson and the carmaker.)
On a contrarian note, this viewer found the signs with “CHANGE” written on one side in white block letters over a black background and “CHANEL” on the other, which were distributed to the crowd and seem destined to become big sellers on eBay, amusing and clever. The Obama people can seem deathly serious at times and the prestige fashion brand’s participation was a welcome playful note unlike the repeated mentions of the new NBC Fall Lineup that the candidate was obliged (for a reported $10 million) to work into the speech itself. These were invariably forced and ham-fisted.
Before Mr. Obama had even left the stadium, mash-ups of different awkward moments from last night had already made their way to YouTube. For some, the most embarrassing incident occurred when a member of Obama’s Secret Service detail accidentally walked into a plant and fell off the stage just as the senator was describing the hardships of ordinary Americans; for others it was when singer Michael McDonald was heard using the toilet on an open microphone as Mr. Obama spoke about the challenges we face abroad.
But surely the introduction of the past five losing Democratic candidates, starting with the extremely frail George McGovern, who then rose to the stage on small disc-shaped elevators, would make anyone’s list of unintentionally amusing lowlights. There they were: McGovern, Walter Mondale, Michael Dukakis, Al Gore, and John Kerry, one more awkward and uncomfortable than the next, rising, giving a quick wave, and then being abruptly lowered again.
Any political speech has both text and an infinite number of layered subtexts. The dominant open question of the evening was how aggressively Senator Obama would attack his Republican opponent, Senator John McCain of Arizona. Although he has largely eschewed the call-and-response cadence of the black church, in this case Mr. Obama played a verbal game with the crowd by inviting them to shout “Don’t ask and don’t tell!” in response to a series of rhetorical questions. “How,” Senator Obama wondered, “would John McCain cut taxes and lower the deficit?” “Don’t ask and don’t tell!” shouted the crowd. “How can John McCain cut our dependence on foreign oil without upsetting the oil companies who back him?” “Don’t ask and don’t tell!” And so on.
While the 80,000 people packed in to Invesco Stadium clearly enjoyed the audience participation, the implication seemed to be that, like so many politicians, Senator McCain has a secret homosexual past, a charge McCain appeared to take seriously enough to rebut by asking a 38-year-old former Playboy Playmate from Alaska (Jeff – check this before posting – bk) to be his running mate earlier today.
An appeal to pet owners complete with a lengthy description of what he would do, if elected, to improve the lives of America’s dogs and cats was an equally audacious gambit. It was effective, no doubt, for those who believe that government has certain responsibilities to all Americans, not just humans, while others surely saw the expansion of, for instance, a federal program to guarantee student loans for dog grooming school as needless pandering. Other elements of the speech were unequivocal disasters, such as a joke about invading Uruguay that fell flat and then drew an angry response from the Uruguayan government.
Though Obama has lately taken to having a glass of beer and a shot of whiskey (a “beer and a bump” as campaign manager David Axelrod calls it) before every speech, as part of an effort to burnish his Everyman credentials, the senator seemed utterly unimpaired last night. Gone was the weaving, stumbling, maudlin Obama who had stopped his motorcade to give an impromptu 2 A.M. lecture to a road crew repairing a water main in Billings, Montana only three nights before. In his place was a man who had clearly learned how to hold his liquor.
Finally, it must be said that how you felt about the speech depended in part on how you experienced it. Those who watched on television were barraged with constant restless cutaways to young women in the crowd flashing their breasts along with the morbidly obese couples in cowboy hats who are an inexplicable staple of all political conventions, Republican and Democratic. One brief shot of the crowd did appear to capture a murder taking place, though no body was found. Denver police are investigating.
If, instead, you had the privilege of watching the speech in the stadium it is likely that, despite the many miscues and errors, your eyes were filled with tears at the end. That politicians can still make us cry with joy, with sadness, with hope, with rage, or with an overpowering need to urinate is one of the most reassuring constants of our cynical age.
The Old Yorker 
Barack Obama Insults Dog, Jumps Shark
Reasonable people may differ as to when exactly the bloom came off the rose for Barack Obama. Of course, hopes fulfilled inevitably bring anti-climax, so it’s possible that much of the general public is now predisposed to find fault even where none exists. But surely few of his supporters, and I count myself among them, will deny that there has been much to deplore about Mr. Obama’s post-election conduct.
For some, the most dispiriting event was the unwelcome reappearance of the Clintonistas, returning through the revolving door that separates the public and private sectors for a last hurrah, a stale Hollywood plot line instead of the “Change from Beyond-the-Beltway” we were promised.
For others, Obama jumped the shark when he continued to send solicitous e-mail (still signed “Barack”), raising money almost as if by reflex, weeks after the election. (Allow me a quick “reply all.” Barack, if I may call you that, people don’t really want to be on a first name basis with their president even if they say they do. Being a young president does not mean you have to behave like a childish one.)
But, for me, the honeymoon ended when Barack Obama insulted my dog on national television.
The “Kimball Corollary” to “O’Neill’s Law,” which states that “All politics are local,” is that “All politics is personal.” (I prefer to regard “politics” as singular rather than plural – let the debate begin.) Last week, during an interview with Barbara Walters (another deplorable move), President-Elect Obama made cruel fun of my dog, gratuitously and without any sort of provocation. That’s when the sad fact I have somehow known all along really hit home: the Barack Obama who will sit in the Oval Office is not and cannot be the same man who ran for that office.
<a href=”The exchange in question took place as Ms. Walters attempted to sell the First Couple on her own preferred breed, a Havanese.
Like Barbara Walters (which is something we are going to have to come to terms with at a later time), my wife and I have a Havanese. Manuel has all the classic dog virtues: he is loyal and affectionate, brave and (somewhat) obedient, and, if anyone tried to take him away from me, they’d have to pry him from my cold, dead hands.
The creation myths of the Havanese breed are various. As their name suggests, they are Cuban, but whether they came there first as the playthings of Spanish aristocrats or to bring joy to the laboring masses as circus dogs is debated. Some say they made landfall in the New World having crossed as shipboard sentinels watching for men overboard, a legacy that would make them unusually beloved among the non-swimming sailors of the day. Our dog still gives the alarm when anyone in our neighborhood dives into a pool or when, at the beach, anyone in his quarter-mile patrol zone is foolish enough to brave the waves.
By immemorial custom, the First Family must be dog owners just as they must be churchgoers and sportsfans. For Barack Obama to promise his daughters a new puppy if he were elected was a no-brainer, like promising them their own airplane or a new house at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Once Wolf Blitzer called it on Election Night, the Obama family was getting a dog whether the kids wanted one or not.
The semiotics of dog ownership, for presidents and paupers alike, are equally well established. By saying that he wanted a “big, rambunctious dog,” Obama was trying to don the mantle of the “guy’s guy.” Big rambunctious dogs, through their genetic link to working and hunting breeds, establish one’s bona fides with the masses. Those toy breeds who don’t have to work for living probably belong to people who don’t either – or so the conventional wisdom would have it.
Of course, big, rambunctious dogs also imply that the owner is not gay which is important for Obama as he considers a politically radioactive repeal of the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” rules which stuck like flypaper to Bill Clinton during his first year in office. For what it’s worth, Barack Obama has risen very high in American life without, as far as I can tell, anyone suggesting he’s gay. I really think ghettoizing an entire species of dog is unnecessary overcompensation in that regard.
(By the way, the days of swishy interior decorators with a Teacup Maltese under their arm seem to me to have gone with the wind. Check out the Big Dog Run in Washington Square Park if you don’t believe me.)
To give Michelle Obama credit, she attempted to give her husband some cover by suggesting that a “girly dog” would be entirely appropriate for “a houseful of girls.” It was a nice try, but clearly Mr. Obama meant “girly” in the pejorative sense, not as an adjective denoting “nice for girls,” but rather to suggest a dog that lives in conflict with its own manly nature or the manly nature of dogs in general.
The focus group that sits inside Barack Obama’s head has mostly served him well. It has enabled him to take terrifying political risks with that icy cool that we all love and fear. But in this case, his inner focus group has steered him wrong. Making distinctions about dogs based on breed is nothing less than a form of canine racism and exactly the sort of thing many of us had hoped we were leaving behind on Nov. 3. Is a Newfoundland who tongue kisses his male owner and hides under the bed during a thunderstorm any less girly than a Chihuahua who barks at trucks and has the guts to try to mate with a throw pillow more than twice his size?
And, after setting a fine example by declaring that he would adopt (or “rescue” in current parlance) a dog rather than buy one, Obama is acting irresponsibly by getting a dog much larger than is practical for people in his zip code who don’t have a Rose Garden and South Lawn for it to run around on. Inevitably, one wonders who is going to clean up after the big, rambunctious dog leaves his big, rambunctious bowel movements scattered about the White House grounds? I suspect our new Commander-in-Chief will be commanding someone to do that job for him.
In the four years since he came into our lives, Manuel has watched over our baby, protected our family, comforted us in times of trouble, given us unconditional love, forgiven us our occasional negligence, entertained us, encouraged us to exercise, and provided us with a middle class tax cut. If President-Elect Obama can say all that at the end of his first term, then I’ll be interested to hear his opinion about my dog. But until then, Mr. President-Elect, how about a little less time disparaging dogs because of their breed and a little more time explaining why you voted for that $700 billion bail-out that didn’t work?
Thanks in advance.
- Old Yorker Commentaries
on December 1, 2008 at 10:07 pm Leave a CommentTags: Barack Obama, Barbara Walters, Havanese, Lindsay Lohan Topless, Michelle Obama, Obama dog